6-forbidden
Orion was able to forgive Brigid for her unruliness at the opera. He also forgave Charles, who had not apologized formally, but whom he knew was like a leech for emotions. He had merely discovered a pet peeve of Bri’s and sought to exploit it for the emotional satisfaction of it. It was nothing personal.
But for Bri’s birthday, Charles, Lucy and their friend Amadeus were invited to tea. Orion felt his energy drain when he saw the couple in the parlor, chatting with his wife.
He stepped forward and kissed Lucy’s hand before he shook Charles’. The man’s grip was firm. He was recalling after the opera how Charles had insinuated Orion should visit him some time. His way was still seductive, even in his forties these days. He recalled years ago, at the tender age of eighteen, when he had fallen prey to the seduction. He knew better now.
Behind the couple, Amadeus was looking on like a guard. Orion smiled to him, despite his intimidating air and the German smiled back. He and the man had not spoken much during the opera, but at intermission they had a short exchange about Charles. He recalled Amadeus being straight-forward, but consoling in an odd way.
He means nothing by it, Amadeus assured Orion. He is an emotional leech. I know him well.
Amadeus was the godfather of Lucy and Charles’ daughter after all. The daughter…who had gone missing.
He shook the man’s hand, pushing the depression down. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Frunberg.”
“Pleasure, my lord.”
He noticed Amadeus’ package, tucked under a powerful arm.
“What have you got there? Is it for me…or my wife?”
The man’s blue eyes followed Orion’s gaze and he responded, “We have a gift for Brigid.”
“May I open it now!” she exclaimed.
The party moved to the drawing room where a pleasant conversation was led by Lucy. She took the reins socially, as usual. It was not quite evening yet, but it was Brigid’s celebration, so the wine was brought out early. The Arteberrys did not seem to mind, and that was likely light drinking for Charles. The sailor downed his glass in one gulp.
Orion noted a quiet change in Charles. Though he had always been sulky in moments of silence, there was now a true hint of melancholy.
When they moved on to board games and idle chitchat, Orion became more curious about Amadeus. He was a man of few words. He was a commoner, but his dignity spoke for itself. There seemed a laconic understanding between the two men. He even nodded to Orion when the conversation ran dry.
Brigid finally retrieved her gift from its package and pulled out a large porcelain doll. It was breathtaking.
“Oh…” she stared. “Where did you…?”
“It was a group effort,” Lucy cooed.
Before Bri could ask how, Charles jumped in, “Lucy caught it, I killed it and Amadeus stuffed it.”
“It looks hand-made,” Orion whispered, smiling at Charles’ joke.
“Amadeus makes dolls,” Charles spoke in earnest. “That’s his profession. Lucy sewed the clothes and I bought the materials. It was group effort.”
Bri embraced Lucy and thanked the two men.
“How long have you made dolls?” Orion asked Amadeus, almost whispering again.
“Say, since I was fifteen perhaps.”
***
By sundown, it seemed the three were going to disperse soon. Bri was still giddy with the idea of a real birthday party, Orion could tell. She had admitted to him last year that she was without a real her whole life. She scraped her way from the dirt in Indian to a dislocated British nurse, and raising herself a waif from orphanage to orphanage, Bri had never fit into upper society.
But the Arteberrys were delightfully offbeat and she was clearly fond of them. Even Charles.
Bri insisted they stay the night, rather than ride back to their estate in darkness. It worried Orion, as he met with Charles’ eyes shyly and he looked away. There was much he remembered about their mistake many years ago, that he did not wish to drag back into the light. There was much he admired about Charles; his bluntness, his bravery, his intelligence. But to dwell on them would mean he would succumb again. His heart was far too vulnerable.
As he walked the halls to his bedroom late that night, he and Charles’ paths crossed. It was inevitable, their shadows tangled. They eyed one another and Orion went to circle Charles but the older man caught his arm. When he was pressed against the wall by the sailor, he allowed it, savoring the force.
“Orion,” Charles whispered, “Does your wife need you in bed? Are you trying to procreate every week night? Because it is a Saturday, I’ll have you note.”
“We are doing what we can…she cannot begrudge me a night off I suppose…” Orion returned his playful tone.
“I think I know what you need, my lord.”
“What is that, Charles?” he asked, having forgotten how nice his aggression was.
Charles leaned in and whispered lewd things in Orion’s ear. He gulped and wrapped his arms around the man’s waist. He scooted against the wall, feeling for the nearest door. Bri was right, he needed some kind of satisfaction. The tension was weighing on his physical form.
As Orion nearly fell back into the unlit guest room, with Charles still on him, he tried to catch his breath. Charles pushed him onto the nearest coach and began to seize control.
“How long has it been?”
“Years, Charles…” Orion spoke in between a kiss. “…since you and I…”
“Fucked. Say the word, love.”
But he could not bring himself to say the word. His mind kept racing to other things, as pleasant as the touching was, as enthralled with the idea he felt…he could not stop thinking about it.
The urgency seized them and they began to shed their clothing, bound toward the forbidden.
But Orion’s mind ran back to Lawrence and his promises. It ran back to his very first lover, the doctor who he refused to even speak with today. The broken vows, the false sense of security. The actual, physical pain when Orion was struck down. At fifteen years old, he had not been much of a match for a full grown man. Today, he could easily overcome someone. But he was still a child in those days…
“Orion,” Charles shook him beneath him. “Hello? Are you lost?”
He realized that Charles had been indulging but that he was far off, lost in the past. The memory of being slammed against the wall with strong hands around his throat.
Bloody, stupid spoiled sodomite!
He pushed Charles off, more roughly than he had intended. “I have to go…”
He closed his shirt and buttoned it, looking around frantically for any other clothing that had been tossed aside. The scant sunlight that peaked through the half-drawn curtain left things dark. Orion knelt on the floor, feeling.
“I see you have not changed much, my lord,” Charles quipped.
Orion seized his shoes and then looked at Charles’ in the half-light. “What are you implying?”
“You are as predictable as the weather in the year you were born,” Charles spat. His voice sounded metallic and distant. Charles was not rejected often, most likely. He was infamous for his sexual prowess.
He referred to 1816, the highlight of chaotic seasons. Very well. “Perhaps then you should find a lover who is more your temperament. For now I have to be alone…”
Running away again, Rion.
He groped for the bedroom door and flung it open. But before he left, he added, “By the way I was born in 1817, Charles.”
He rushed to his private chamber and threw his shoes aside. Where he sat, the very last of the daylight fell on him as he shielded his face in his hands. The warmth was retreating into the night. He tried with all his might to push the memories down. Shame, lies, his mother’s death, the madhouse.
The madhouse; he could not even reflect on that without screaming.
The bedroom door creaked open and small, shuffling footsteps introduced Brigid.
“Muffin…you hold too much in.”
“Brigid, I want to be alone right now.”
“What are you trying to prove, Orion? There’s nothing wrong with the way you are.”
“I did not say there was.”
“Then why not do what makes you feel good?” her voice was getting shrill, he could feel her prickling. He could also feel her assumptions and it pushed him.
“Brigid, you do not understand…”
He met her eyes so that she could see he was weeping. Perhaps then she would understand. When the woman saw his tears she frowned. It was hard to detect in the dark, but her eyes may be watering with his. Not even Brigid knew about the madhouse. Only the men who had thrown Orion there, in hopes that he would rot, knew he was a former Bedlamite.
“Talk to me, Orion…” she begged, her voice small.
“Later…” he promised.
He would tell her in time. But not tonight. Tonight he wanted all eyes off of him. He wanted to stay in the dark.
If there was a sound for resignation, he would have heard it when Bri hung her head and left her husband to dwell, battling the past.
© Luz Briar. All Rights Reserved.
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